Fedoras and Sunsets
by dianescruse
Summary: Michael Jackson goes through his toughest times with Claire Denworth, the love of his life, by his side. Claire thinks Michael makes her life complete. But what will happen when she starts to think lowly of herself and not worthy of Michael's love?
1. Ivory's promise

**THANKS to NickiTine, who, without her knowing it, got me into this.**

**and to Michael Jackson. :)**

* * *

The sparkling blue sea sang a most calming melody as the setting sun kissed the horizon. Orange, red, pink, purple… the sky was a majestic palette of colors as the last rays of the sun set light on the almost empty beach. Two figures walked barefooted on the sand, their hands intertwined like vines, basking in the beauty only a Hawaiian sunset has to offer.

"We should spend more time like this." The girl whispered, the breeze blowing her soft brown curls off her pale face. She reached her free hand out to the man's face to brush his curly, jet-black hair off of it, revealing warm brown eyes that seemed to stare deep into her soul.

"I know. I wish we could." He sighed. "But everything's just too messed up right now, what with the trials and everything…" his gentle voice broke, trying to fight back tears.

"Shh, Michael... let's forget about that for now, okay? We didn't rent this whole place to ourselves only crease our foreheads with worry about those crazy allegations, did we? We're here to take a break." she smiled. He stopped walking and turned to face her.

"Yes, we could forget about those for now. We _should_ forget about that stuff. " he cradled her face in his hands, his long, pale fingers gently caressing her alabaster skin.

"I love you, Claire." he breathed, his lips finding hers. His lips were urgent and fierce, as if he needed her so much. Claire grabbed Michael's hair on his nape, where it started into a loose ponytail. They shared a passionate kiss, their shadows becoming one upon the sand, fitting perfectly into the portrait of the setting sun.

* * *

Tom Sneddon, a juror for the Jackson vs. Chandler case, smirked at Michael. He was, in Michael's view, the coldest man on earth. Today, the jury will either vindicate or vilify Michael against Gavin Chandler, the 13 year old kid who filed for child abuse and molestation.

"Michael, don't worry. You're innocent, we all know you are." Thomas Massereau assured an anxious Michael. He offered his lawyer a small smile. It was all he could do to keep Thomas from worrying about him more than he already is.

The judge called for order in the court. Everyone fell silent, waiting for the verdict. "Tom Sneddon, the verdict?" the judge prompted the juror. Tom stood up and cleared his throat.

Michael's heart pounded wildly against his ribs. He threw a small glance at Gavin Chandler, who was playing with a bottle of water as if he didn't give a care whatever happened to this trial.

_Why, _he thought, _would Gavin ever do this to me?_ Gavin has been a good friend of his… so why this? Michael could not figure out why the child he so loved and treated as family would accuse him of doing such a horrible act.

"We find the defendant…" Tom started, but he was cut off.

"Wait!" Gavin interrupted as he stood up. Everyone looked at him with dropped jaws, surprise evident on their eyes. He looked Michael straight in the eye. "Sorry, Mike," he said to his friend, his voice on the edge of tears. "I shouldn't have done it."

His father pulled his arm, yanking him down to his seat. "Excuse my son, he's not himself when he's nervous," he lied. "He says and does nonsensical things."

"No I don't!" Gavin yelled. He pulled away from his father and ran to Michael's stand. Everyone gasped in shock as Gavin hugged Michael, tears streaming from his eyes.

"I lied. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He managed to whisper to Michael in between sobs.

"It's okay Gavin. Stop crying, please. Now, you have to tell them the truth, no more lies okay? There, there, stop crying kiddo." Michael said while patting Gavin's back.

"Great, that's what we need." Thomas said in a low voice. He stood up. "Your Honor, I believe the jury has to hear what the plaintiff has to say before the verdict." He said in a clear voice, victory ringing in every syllable.

"Objection, your Honor! The time for that has now ended! In any case, the father clearly said that Gavin tends to be nonsensical when he's nervous." the Chandlers' lawyer cried. Gavin's father glared furiously at Michael. _You'll pay for this_ he mouthed. Michael broke eye contact and turned to Gavin.

"Your father… he's the one who told you to do this, isn't he?" he asked. Gavin nodded, burying his face into Michael's chest as another round of tears came.

"Order!" the judge called out as he pounded his gavel repeatedly. "Tom Sneddon, please take your seat for awhile."

Tom Sneddon opened his mouth to argue, but snapped it shut anyway. He threw Michael a menacing glare as he plopped back down on his seat.

"Mr. Gavin Chandler, please explain the sudden change of sides." the judge ordered.

"Your honor, we can't have that, it's-" the Chandlers' lawyer complained.

"We _must_ have it." the judge butted in, shaking his head. "Now, Mr. Chandler, you realize that what you did has greatly messed up court proceedings? Would you mind telling us why you did what you did?" the judge asked, his voice resigned.

"Because I lied." Gavin admitted. "Michael never did anything bad to me. He's not a pedophile. He didn't abuse me. He never forced me to drink alcohol, nor did he put alcoholic beverages in soda cans. He never… masturbated in front of me, nor did he ever mention it. He didn't show me his pornographic magazines. He didn't sleep in the same bed as I. When I did sleep in his bed, he took the floor. He never held me and my family hostage in Neverland. He didn't do anything wrong…

"Michael has done nothing but good for me. When I came to him back in 1985, I was sick with cancer. I was bald, thin, and weak. My doctor said I was going to die in less than a year. My mom, she knows how much I love Michael, she took me to Neverland to meet him, my idol. Every week or so, we would visit and have a grand time. He hung out with me a lot, playing with me or telling me stories. He said I wasn't gonna die so young. He promised I wouldn't. Sure enough, a year passed and I'm still alive.

"In 1986, we moved to Neverland. By then, my hair was growing again, I grew taller and was generally healthier. My mother was suing dad for divorce because he's a git." Gavin said with contempt, glaring at his father. "But it didn't push through because mom doesn't work and she can't support me and my three siblings without dad. But we lived in Neverland without dad. He would visit occasionally, mostly to borrow money from Michael for his stupid films. See, dad likes making and producing films. One day, he came and asked for ten million like it didn't cost anything. Mike said sorry, but he couldn't at the time because he had his own stuff to produce.

"Dad was fuming mad, of course. That's when he told me to lie and testify against Mike. He threatened that if I didn't, he's gonna file for divorce and take me under custody. Of course, I didn't want that. That's why I'm here." he finished. His eyes dropped to his feet, afraid to see what his father's face might look like. The room was silent and still. All eyes were on the standing figure of Gavin, his head still down. He could feel the crowd's confused eyes on him, like they were pricking his back. He didn't know if they pitied him, or maybe they were disgusted. He didn't care anymore, as long as Michael could be spared from his and his father's wrongdoings.

"Well," the judge broke the silence. "that changes things completely, doesn't it?"

"I beg to disagree, your honor." Tom Sneddon said wickedly. He stood up once again and faced Michael.

"Mr. Sneddon, wouldn't you need time to discuss your decision with the jury?" the judge asked, almost ordered.

"No, your honor," he said. He walked slowly towards Michael. "The jury finds defendant guilty of all charges," he said in a booming voice. "and plaintiff shall receive Claire Denworth for all damages." He finished with a menacing laugh just like Vincent Price's on Thriller.

"Claire? No! You heard Gavin! He's telling the truth! Why Claire?" Michael yelled furiously. He looked around for Thomas, begging for help, but Thomas was nowhere to be seen. Instead he saw Mr. Chandler pulling his son back to their stand.

"Gavin was telling the truth, I didn't do anything wrong." he pleaded. Tom Sneddon strode towards him until Michael could see every little wrinkle the man had on his smirking face.

"We don't care if the child was telling the truth or not. We just want you to go down." Tom spit through his clenched teeth. Michael faintly heard the Judge calling for order, but the room was in havoc, everyone's shouting and crying and booming with laughter.

"Why Claire?" he asked in a small voice, his brown eyes seeking a little bit of heart from the wicked old man before him. "That's illegal." he added, his voice close to tears.

"Because," Tom answered, still smirking. "this world don't give people like you justice. You already have everything in the world, so we take away a little of your happiness and ruin your life."

At that moment, the doors flew open as two men pulled in a huge sack made of cloth. "Here it is," one of them said "safe and sound, Mr. Sneddon."

"Michael, why don't you open it for us?" he said with mocking innocence. Muffled moans escaped the sack, where a huge dollar sign was printed in black, above a smaller print that read DAMAGES. Michael, realizing what –or who- was in the sack, dashed to the sack and ripped it open.

"No! You can't… not… Claire… no!" Michael yelled pleadingly.

* * *

Claire tiptoed to the door of Michael's bedroom to see if he's still sleeping. She thought it was quite stupid that they still had to sleep in separate bedrooms when they've been informally together for, well, forever. _Every other couple in America sleeps in the same bed, Mike. _She argued. _Well, Claire, we're not married. And, we're not like every other couple._ He countered with a smile. Claire gave in, knowing that she didn't stand a chance against virtuous Michael and all his values. She laughed quietly to herself, finally reaching his door.

"No! You can't… not… Claire… no!" Michael yelled. She tensed, starting to panic.

"Michael? Michael, open up!" she called. She twisted the knob and found out the door wasn't locked. She barged in on Michael, who was still in bed, staring at the ceiling and breathing heavily.

"What's wrong, Mike?" she asked, sitting at the edge of his bed. He turned his head towards her and answered. "Nightmare." He said with a smile.

"Poor kid," she said. "smiling after a nightmare. Have you lost your mind, Michael?" she said, laughing.

"I don't think so, no. It was pretty frightening, but I'm not gonna freak out with you here." he answered , shuddering a bit as the image of Tom Sneddon passed through his head.

"Bet you wouldn't have had one if I was beside you." she teased. She ran her fingers through his hair playfully. He caught her hand and held it to his chest, covered by the red silk of his pajama top. "Promise me something, Claire." he said, his eyes closed.

She bit her lip. _God, he is so bloody perfect. That long curly hair, those warm brown eyes, those amazingly full lips, that sweet smile, that soft and gentle voice, that vitiligo'ed skin... I wouldn't have anything, or anyone, else in the world for him._

Claire marveled at how physically far this Michael lying beside her was from the young Michael she first met. But she couldn't deny the fact that this 27 year old Michael still carried the loving heart of the adorable child from the Jackson 5ive, something that most grown-ups leave as they step out of their little childhood playpens and into the everyday complications of the real world. This Michael, in red silk pajamas, would always be a child because he never really had a childhood. Claire first met him when he was 7 and she was 5, he in his costume for a performance and she in her trick-or-treating Cinderella ensemble. "Look honey, the Jackson 5ive." her father, action star George Denworth, pointed to the five lads, who were going to perform on Ed Sullivan's that Halloween. As her father left her with them to talk with Ed Sullivan, the five introduced themselves. Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, Marlon, and Michael were all dressed in matching flowery suits. She started introducing herself but Tito interrupted her. "We already know who you are; you're George's daughter, Claire, right?" he said, "I love your father's films!" he added. She sat timidly with them as they talked about his father's action flicks, growing impatient. She wanted to go trick-or-treating already, but her father's new project with Ed Sullivan stood in the way. "Hey Cinderella, wanna go play?" Michael asked her while his brothers argued over the best action flick of all time. The two of them had a grand time pretending they were pirates, then witches, then pizza delivery men. Half an hour before the show, Michael and Claire sat, tired little children, talking about Halloween. She found out he's never been trick-or-treating before because of his career. Her little mouth popped into an "O" in surprise. She found out he's always had to work, even on school nights when she was being tucked into bed and getting a bedtime story, even on the sunniest days of summer when she would be playing under the sun, even on his birthday, which he didn't celebrate because his religion didn't allow it. Hearing those, young Claire took it upon herself to make her new friend live as kids should: fun, careless, and always having a grand time. She told him he has to go with her that night, after his performance. He agreed excitedly, and sure enough, they both had a grand time fooling people that Michael was dressed as Michael Jackson from the J5 and they had a sweet night, stuffing themselves full of all the chocolates and candies they collected. From then on, they've been best of friends. Ebony and Ivory, George liked to call them when they were young.

"Claire? Are you even listening?" Michael asked, snapping Claire out of her reverie. "Uhh, not exactly. Sorry." she said, blushing.

He laughed that sweet laugh of his, still holding Claire's hand to his chest. "You have the most beautiful soul on this world, Claire." he said, closing his eyes again. Claire curiously tilted her head to one side. "Promise me, Claire, that you'll never leave me." he said sweetly, but Claire could hear a tinge of uncertainty.

"I, Claire Harriett Denworth, promise never to leave you, Michael Joseph Jackson, whatever circumstances may face us, ever." Claire promised. Michael opened his eyes and flashed her a blinding smile that knocked her out of her senses. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it while his other hand closed around her other hand. "Gotcha," he said with bright eyes. He tickled her waist while she laughed and struggled to free her hands from his grip.

"Cheater!" she accused jokingly as she finally managed to wriggle one hand free and attacked Michael's foot, making him laugh uncontrollably. Moments later, they both collapsed on the bed, still shaking with laughter from the tickle war that ensued.

"All that tickling made me hungry." Claire said, chuckling. At that, Michael hopped off his bed and carried Claire to the pristine white kitchen. "What do you wanna eat, my princess?" he asked as he settled her on a leather stool by the counter.

"Since this is Hawaii… how about a pineapple upside down cake?" she challenged. He scratched his head and walked to the telephone, getting ready to call for delivery. "You sure you don't want something we can cook?" he asked, almost begging her to change her mind. He really wanted to make something special for her, but he can't bake.

"Lemme think." she said playfully, putting her elbow up on the counter and resting her chin on her hand. "How about banana and choco chip pancakes?" she said, poking the bananas on the fruit bowl in front of her. Michael perked up, "Sure. We'll have the upside down cake some other day, I promise." He said as he poked around the shelves to find what he needs.

He sang as he worked in the kitchen. Claire happily followed him around, licking bowls and spoons whenever he allowed. They finished eating and decided to go swimming.

Michael laughed and smiled genuinely again for the first time since he was accused for molestation and abuse. Claire sighed happily as she watched Michael build a sandcastle, bringing out the lovable child that he is. Michael felt light and happy, an ocean away from all his problems. As a wave took his sandcastle down, he laughed and went to sit beside Claire.

"Thank you, Claire," he said, resting his head on her lap. "for bringing me here. We've only been here for four days and it already feel like we've lived here our whole lives. This place is just perfect, mainly because you're here."

"I didn't bring you here, you're the one who planned all this." She said, confused.

"Yes, but it was your idea. Remember the day the letter came from the Santa Barbara County?" he said, going back to the day it all started.

Michael was in his private recording studio In Neverland, doing the demo version of a new song he wrote. He'd just gotten home from lunch with Quincy Jones, who was working with him for his new album. "We gotta show 'em you're bad, Michael." Quincy told him, laughing at his own pun. The two of them decided Michael should reinvent his image, going from pop's good boy to butt-kicking bad. Quincy said the reinvention would be good for sales since it will boost the audience's interest, but Michael had other reasons he kept to himself. Lately, he has been the target of outrageous rumors from the press. He remembers reading a newspaper article headlined as "WACKO JACKO SLEEPS IN OXYGEN CHAMBER", and a guy from an art museum he visited asking why he wanted to buy the elephant man's bones. He doesn't know where these lies came from, but he does know they have to stop. _I'll show them who's bad, _he thought. He sang his fury out until he felt good again.

Leave me alone

Stop it

Just stop doggin' me around

He was just finishing up when he heard some knocking –no, sharp, terrified rapping- on his door. He opened up to see a flushed and panting Sam, his personal bodyguard, handing over a white envelope. "Why didn't you just leave it in my office, Sam?" he asked. Sam didn't speak, but motioned for him to turn the envelope over. SANTA BARBARA COUNTY was printed on it. _This is trouble…_ he thought. He opened the letter with fumbling fingers and words jumped out at him… molestation, child abuse, Gavin Chandler, words that didn't make sense. He had to read it again to figure out what it was saying. The paper fluttered from is frozen hands, his face turning pale. "Sir, you okay?" Sam inquired, worry evident in his tone. Michael shook his head and crumbled to the floor, feeling the world crashing around him. Bam! Down goes his career. Crash! Down goes his life. Down, down, down…

Two days later, Michael was still in Neverland when he was supposed to be in Tokyo, Japan for an awards show. Kai, his chef, tries to get him to eat something more than water and bread, but he wouldn't. Sam's been urging him to go to Tokyo for the show but he didn't. Quincy even dropped by the day after the letter to rage about the rumors that Michael's involved in some stupid court case. "It's not a rumor." He said lifelessly, thrusting the letter into Quincy's hands. "But it's not true. I'd never do that." he added miserably. Quincy encouraged him to continue working on the album. "Show them what you got, m'boy! Don't let this stupid child's lies ruin your life." Quincy bellowed. "But Q, I can't. And if I did finish the album, who'd support it?" he said, his vacant eyes idly staring into space. Quincy left in dismay; he didn't think Michael would give up this easily. That night, the evening news was full of the speculations: "MJ a pedophile?", "Jacko's weak spot for young _boy_", "Wacko: abuser". Michael sat in front of the television, drinking all the crap in. He didn't even notice Janet, his sister, come in until she turned off the telly. "Why are you watching that?" she asked, hugging him. "Janet? Shouldn't you be in DC for your concert?" he asked in return. She explained that when she heard about the… news, she decided to call their mother, Katherine, to ask if she's going to Neverland for Michael. Katherine very much wanted to, but she was sick with fever, so Janet decided to cancel one night's concert to check on Michael. "Mother sends you her love." she said. In his sister's embrace, he finally broke down and cried his heart out. He cried until no msore tears would come out, and the sun was creeping out of the horizon. Janet wanted to cancel the rest of her concerts but Michael wouldn't let her. He urged her to go back and do her concerts, reassuring her that he'll be fine. She left, promising to be back as soon as she can.

That same day, Claire came to Neverland. "Hold on, ebony." she said, holding his hands tight in hers. They were seated facing each other, a round breakfast table between them, where a slice of cake sat untouched. She's been trying to make him eat like Kai did, but he still wouldn't. "C'mon Mike, I know you're better than that. You're not one to let your life go to waste just like that, I know it." she said, gripping his hands tighter. He looked up at her and smiled a bit, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I don't know what's happening. I keep hoping that this is just a nightmare and I'll close my eyes, thinking I'd wake up soon enough. But it isn't. When I open my eyes… I'm still in this nightmare." he said, a sad smile playing on his lips. "But this is a nightmare. None of this is real… well, true anyway. I think you need a breather, go away from this mess for awhile and clear that head of yours. When you get back, you'll be ready to face everything with your head high." she said, making him consider her idea. "You know what? I think you're right." He answered, his eyes shining with a little glimmer of hope.

"Yeah, I remember. This is my idea after all, huh?" Claire said, watching the waves break on the sand.

"Yep, so thanks." Michael replied, watching Claire, lost in her thoughts. "What are you thinking about, Claire?" he asked, marveling at how beautiful her blue grey eyes were.

"Nothing," she answered, turning her face to his. "Let's go inside, the sun's climbing too high up, it's bad for you." she said, getting up and pulling Michael out of the sun to protect him and his way too sensitive skin.


	2. Decisions

**SO… For those of you guys who know about Jordan Chandler and Gavin Arvizo, and are probably laughing at my mistake or something… lemme explain. I wanted to infuse the money-grubbing Chandler daddy into the story, but I also wanted the kiddo to be a cancer survivor, just like Gavin Arvizo, so I put 'em together and… Voila! We have a cancer survivor with a ruddy bastard for a father. :) enjoy!**

* * *

CHAPTER 2: DECISIONS

Gavin Chandler slammed his science textbook shut, his mind miles away from the test he's supposed to be studying for. It's been two weeks since Michael received the letter from court, or so Gavin thinks, because the MJ molestation case media frenzy has been going on for two weeks now. It's been crazy, hell yeah. He's almost like a celebrity, with all those annoying press people buzzing about wherever he goes. One time, as he was on his way to the cafeteria for lunch, a blinding flash of light came out of the trash can he was passing by. He was startled, no doubt, but he kicked the bin's lid off to reveal a sleazy photographer covered in sour milk cackling like mad. It gets too annoying, and even freaky… he wonders how the stars take it. Especially the really big ones like Lady Di, Tom Cruise, Madonna… and Mike.

Mike, Mike, Mike.

Gavin groaned. He still couldn't quite believe what he did to his friend, after everything Michael did for him and his family. But what was he to do? He'd rather die than live with his dad, away from his mom. But still… drag Michael into their family problems? _Satan's probably busy preparing a welcome party for me now, _he thought glumly.

"Hey." Danielle, his sister, said blankly as she stepped into Gavin's bedroom. Danielle is two years older than Gavin but seemed to be less mature than him when it comes to the lying Gavin had to make. She understood that Gavin was frightened by their father's threat, but she was still against his brother succumbing to their father's evil. She knew well enough not to argue anymore though, because she couldn't stand her father saying he wouldn't listen to _an annoying and idiotic fifteen year-old crybaby who thinks and acts like a whimpy kid in diapers._ As she made her way through Gavin's cluttered floor, her brother went back to leafing through his science book in a lame attempt at studying.

_Apoptosis is the natural death cells take when they are no longer capable of performing their cellular duties due to… blah, who freaking cares? _He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to tune out his sister's shuffling noises.

_Okay. Focus. Read the stupid book and get this "study sesh" over with. _He stared at the book, trying to get his brain to remember all the terms and stuff. _Cancer cells, unlike healthy ones, cannot undergo apoptosis. They also reproduce quickly, the next set of cells more dangerously damaged than the parent cells. _Gavin shifted his eyes from the book to the window, suddenly interested in the fluffy white clouds, shoving all thoughts of cancer into a little drawer at the back of his mind. _What the hell… I'm gonna have to study anyway._ He skipped the paragraph explaining cancer cells and tried to really study, but Danielle's scuffling around his room distracted him.

"What the hell are you doing in my room, anyway? If I don't pass my test tomorrow, don't go crying again if I blame you!" he said, his tone seeping with irritation. He threw a furious look at his sister, who went on peering under pillows and stuffing her hand into little nooks and crannies in search of something as if she didn't hear her brother's reproving statement.

"Danielle! What in the world are you looking for?" he asked, standing up from his seat to walk over to his sister. She was burrowing her head under his bed, where he'd secretly stuffed his Michael Jackson albums, posters, shirts, magazines, action figures (or dolls, according to Danielle), and everything else he owned that had the slightest connection to the King of Pop, away from his father so he couldn't throw them out. At first, he was sure that hiding them under his bed was a really lame idea, but that's the only place where they all fit. Besides, his father never bothers coming up to his room, let alone poke his big head under Gavin's bed, like Danielle was doing now.

"Gavin, where'd you put your- Aha!" Danielle cried in delight, her voice slightly muffled from under the bed. She stood up then settled on Gavin's bed, clutching a photo album containing pictures from their very first visit to Neverland.

"Your little Neverland down there is a little bit dusty; I think you should clean it," she told him, patting dust off her yellow shirt. She looks around his unorganized room and decides to add "and the rest of your nest, too."

He rolls his eyes at her and smiles a little. His eyes fall on the photo album, which Danielle is now leafing through. He sees a picture of Michael and Bubbles, that funny chimp. Then he sees another one of Bubbles, with himself: young, balding, and sick with cancer, but with a bright, bright smile.

"What did you get that for?" he asked, reaching for it. Danielle pulled it away from him, frowning.

"What?" he complained, trying to pry her fingers off of it.

"Wait, Gavin, just wait. I won't steal it from you, just wait a second." she instructed. He folded his arms over his chest and looked inquiringly at Danielle. She flipped to the first page, which had no photo, but had Michael's autograph. Gavin gulped at the sight of it, reminded of his disloyalty.

"Tell me something," Danielle started, her voice detached. Her eyes were staring at the autograph, but they were vacant. "Michael has these exact same pictures in print, right?"

"Yeah, we had them printed at the same time. Why are you asking?" he countered suspiciously. But Danielle didn't answer; she went through the album page by page, her hands quivering.

"You have to call Michael," she said with a wobbly voice. She was still leafing through the album, as if in search of something. Gavin saw pictures of himself laughing, Danielle with Muscles the snake around her neck, their mother hugging a smiling little Gavin, Michael and the three siblings by the train, Gavin's oldest brother beside Bubbles…

"Why?" he asked as she passed a picture of the mini theater. She hesitated, slowly turning page after page, buying her time. A photo of the playroom, Michael smiling with Gavin, a stolen shot of Danielle chugging down something from a mug… Gavin noticed that in the pictures, they were already in their jammies, getting ready for a slumber party.

"Because…" Danielle started. She was onto the last page, and Gavin could tell she didn't wanna see that last picture. Gavin wrinkled his forehead, thinking what on earth could that picture be? Danielle knew what's on that last picture, but she didn't wanna see it and confirm her biggest nightmare. _Oh God, Michael has to get rid of his pictures,_ she thought, her fingers still fumbling along the edge of the page.

"Because?" Gavin prompted, dying to see the last picture. Danielle sighed. _Might as well get it over with… _she thought, although she knew that the picture would only be the beginning of all their worries. She turned to the last page, shutting her eyes in horror.

"… of this." she whispered. Gavin just stared with his mouth slightly open. The whole place, even the chirping birds, fell in stunned silence.

A happy little Gavin was staring out of the picture, his balding head resting on Michael Jackson's shoulder. Michael was smiling, too. They were sitting cross-legged, side by side. They were in matching blue silk jammies the way you would see young twins dress up. Nothing was actually horrifying about the picture… except the fact that they were both in Michael's king-sized bed. Even that fact isn't scary, but now that there were accusations against Michael being a child molester… what would people, especially the jury, make of it?

"It's not like we slept in the same bed," Gavin's thick voice broke the silence. "You know I slept in a guest room, we just wanted to check what Mike's room was like. We're sitting on the same bed… so what?" he continued, momentarily forgetting that he's the one who filed for charges.

"So you're gonna tell everyone the truth now, right?" Danielle asked hopefully.

* * *

"Can't it wait?" Michael yelled furiously into the receiver. He paced back and forth as he listened to Frank DiLeo, his manager. It was around eight o'clock in the evening, and bright stars were scattered across the dark sky. Michael finally plopped on the rattan sofa on the patio, where Claire was huddled, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Tomorrow? Frank I-" he was cut off. He stood up and started pacing again. Claire pulled her shawl tighter around her as the chilly air blew past. She closed her eyes, listening to Michael's pacing and the waves gently crashing on the shore. _Tap, tap, tap, _Michael's pacing created a relaxing, steady rhythm. _This guy creates music even in the most random situations, _she thought with a smile.

"Frank, can't Thomas just work things out? I left every legal matter to him, I'm sure he's capable- of course, but-" Frank cut him off _again._ Claire opened her eyes to watch Michael, still pacing, one hand on the phone and the other one on his forehead. He was frowning as he listened to Frank.

_Leave it to Frank to make Mike worry, _she thought. Until Frank's call this evening, Michael had smiled through their stay in Hawaii. But seeing how easily the problems can get to Mike… it made Claire feel like a failure. She's been trying extremely hard to keep him happy, but if one phone call can crease his forehead with worry, how would he take all the problems when they get back?

"Damn, Frank! Do I look like I'm in the proper state to record it, huh? Tell him the stupid album can wait!" he yelled as he stopped pacing. A cold tingle ran down Claire's spine, both from the freezing wind and from seeing Michael furious.

She walked up to him to give him a small hug, then went on inside.

She could still hear Michael yelling then pleading then yelling again out on the patio, so she ran to the bathroom to get away from it. She locked the door behind her and crumbled to the floor, clutching her hair in her hands. A tear slid down her left cheek. She wiped it away, trying not to break down completely. Then came another, and another, until she was sobbing uncontrollably.

Like a little movie, the conversation she had with Michael on the beach on their fourth day in Hawaii ran through her head. He had been thanking her for bringing him here, away from all the problems. He reminded her that this was her idea. But Claire had been thinking: _what if this wasn't a good idea? What if we go back and he would be overwhelmed? What if this little escape didn't do him any good?_

Seeing Michael laughing without a worry in the world lifted Claire's spirits, but also left her with a lot of doubts. Before leaving for Hawaii, she actually thought that this little vacation would do Michael wonders. And yes, Michael is happy _now_, but what will happen once they _go back_? Claire fears for the worst: that this light, refreshing trip would make Michael's problems even harder to face. Claire broke into another round of tears as she grew more and more afraid of bringing Michael back to California. Her tears flowed down her cheeks ceaselessly, falling down to her yellow sundress.

_What am I doing?_ she thought, straining to stop herself. She pulled her hands off her hair and counted to ten.

_One… two… three… four… _she took a deep breath.

_Five… six… seven… _the tears stopped streaming.

_Eight… nine… _she took another deep breath.

_Ten… now what?_ She looked at the horrible mess in front of her. Opposite her was a floor to ceiling mirror, reflecting her wasted image. She was slumped dejectedly on the floor. Her brown curls were tied into a ponytail, but hair stuck out of it in places, just like a nest. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. She buried her face in her palms, rubbing the remaining tears off her eyes.

Familiar footsteps from outside startled Claire. She froze, straining to hear if Michael was coming towards the bathroom. They were coming closer and she started to panic. In a hurry to at least wash her face, she jumped up from the floor, not noticing that her shawl had slipped from her shoulders. Her foot caught on the edge of the slippery shawl, and she fell forward. She watched in horror as her body seemed to fall in slow motion, her face coming closer and closer to the tiled edge of the bathtub. A small scream managed to escape her throat as her forehead hit the cold, hard, and squared edge.

* * *

Michael rushed to the bathroom, startled by Claire's scream. He rattled the knob, but it was locked.

"Claire? Claire, open up! What's wrong?" he called out, his voice thick with worry.

No answer.

He dashed to the kitchen, were all the keys are kept. He grabbed a keyholder with around twenty keys of the same size and tried thrusting them in the knob. On his twelfth try, the door opened. Michael gasped in shock as a bloody mess greeted him. Claire was slumped face forward on the floor, and her head is cushioned by a pool of gleaming scarlet blood.

He dropped the keys and kneeled by her head, grabbing a clean white towel off the rack. He pressed the towel against her forehead, where blood was gushing from. With his other hand, Michael reached for the phone by the tub, his fumbling fingers dialing 911 in a flash.

"Are you calling for fire, police, or an ambulance?" the operator inquired.

"Ambulance. Right away, please. She might lose t-"

"I'll connect you to an EMD, sir." the operator cut in. Sure enough, Michael found himself talking to an emergency medical dispatcher.

"She's got a cut in her forehead, and she's bleeding heavily. She may have hit her head hard on the tiled edge of the tub." he said impatiently, still pressing Claire's forehead firmly.

"Okay, sir. May I take your name and the patient's? And your current location?" the dispatcher asked.

"The patient is Claire Denworth. I'm Michael Jackson. We're in Maui. Kauhale Resort." He answered. The dispatcher didn't answer for a few seconds.

"C'mon, she's losing a lot of blood." Michael said in a rush, half pleadingly and half impatiently.

"Uh, sir. Let me verify. Claire Denworth and Michael Jackson, right?" The dispatcher regained ability to speak again.

"Yes!" Michael groaned in exasperation.

"I'll send an ambulance right away!" the flustered voice of the dispatcher said.

* * *

Claire opened her eyes. She blinked several times, taking in the bright light and the smell of ammonia. She heard distant bleeping noises and several voices arguing over the hazards of propofol. She was on a not-too-comfortable bed… _or gurney_. Realization dawned on her: _I'm in a hospital, _she thought bluntly, remembering her crying episode, and slipping on her shawl, and screaming before blacking out.

The room was cold, white curtains surrounding Claire's little space. She was suddenly aware of a light breathing noise. And her left hand was enclosed in distinguishable warmth, distinct against the cold room. She turned her head – or tried to – as the bed creaked.

"Ow!" she squeaked, a slight throbbing pain in her head. She reached her free hand out to her head, which as she now noticed, felt cramped and bulky. Her fingers swept against bandage. Michael's eyes flew open, looking at her in surprise. She smiled, but Michael's gaze changed from surprise to worry, so she concluded her smile looked more like a grimace. She tried moving her head again, then winced in pain.

"No, don't move." Michael instructed gently, squeezing her hand.

"What happened?" she asked, pressing her fingers to the temples of her head.

"You hit your head on the tub and you were bleeding heavily. Mind telling me how that happened?" His eyes were full of concern but he raised an eyebrow, waiting for Claire's response.

Claire tried shaking her head, but her lips curled in pain. She clutched Michael's hand for support. "Don't answer that." he said gently, stroking her hair out of her face. She noticed the time as she caught sight of his wristwatch.

"Michael, go get some more sleep! It's only 2:30!" she exclaimed, suddenly noticing his bloodshot eyes and the deep, dark circles beneath them. Michael shook his head and laughed a little. A nurse popped her head in through the curtains to tell them to keep silent – other patients are sleeping - when she saw Michael. The nurse's eyes bulged out of their sockets. She blurted a little sorry and went off with a red face.

"Claire… I have bad news." Michael said after making sure the nurse was out of earshot. He bit his lip, trying to buy his time.

"What?" she prompted, genuinely curious. Michael hesitated, and then took a deep breath.

"I'm afraid we have to go back, as soon as the hospital allows you." He frowned as he searched Claire's face for any emotion. Claire just shrugged, completely blasé.

"I figured as much," she said, still keeping a straight face. "a Frank call could never bring any good news." She laughed at her own joke.

Michael stared in disbelief. Since Frank called, he's been plagued with worry: _how would Claire take it?_ And now, Claire was actually all cool about it, even laughing without a care in the world. Michael felt like something big and heavy has been taken off his back as he chimed in Claire's tinkling laughter.

"So, what did Frank call about?" she asked, her cheeks flushed red from laughing.

"Mainly he begged me to come home. He said I have to work with Thomas on the case. And Quincy is still insisting that I should continue doing Bad." he explained with a yawn, like he didn't care.

"So that's why we're going? For Bad and the case?" she questioned, feeling quite stupid for asking the obvious.

"No! You know me better than that…" he trailed off, insulted. Claire stared in confusion.

"Huh? Why are we…"

"Mother. Mother is in Neverland," he cut in. "If she wasn't, I wouldn't go home at all. She specifically asked Frank not to tell me she's there, that she'll just wait until we get home. Good thing Frank's got a big mouth."

"Frank probably told you so you'd get home… he knows you, Mike." Claire said with a giggle.

"Yeah, probably." he said vacantly. After a a long pause he opened his mouth to speak. "Claire… I have a question."

"Fire away." Claire raised an eyebrow.

"When we go back… do you want to stay in Neverland, or do you want to go back home to your flat?" he asked. Claire couldn't quite read his expression.

"Do you want me to stay in Neverland?" she said, although she already had a decision.

"Yes, of course. But you might not want to." He answered somberly.

Something was blocking Claire's throat as she listened to Michael's uncertain tone. _Why is he still doubting the fact that I love him, and that I'll always be there for him?_ She gulped and closed her eyes, feigning sleep. Soon, she was drifting off to dreamland, where a happier Michael welcomed her with open arms.

**Woo! Two chapters done! I'll try to start the next one… but school's comin up so good luck with that.**


	3. Starting Over

In chapter 1, I erroneously put in Thomas Mesereau's name as Thomas Massereau. Sorry for that blunder. :) Oh, and let's pretend that cellphones were already a staple back then. :)

BIG THANK YOU to SmoothLadyCriminal and phoenixazul for the reviews. and to NickiTine for recommending this story.

* * *

The smell of genuine leather greeted Claire as she pushed open the door to her flat. Since her twenty-third birthday, she's been staying in that penthouse flat her dad gave to her. It was thirty minutes away from Neverland, and Michael used to pop in once a week. On good days, they would watch movies and eat. But Michael being a worldwide superstar and Claire running her own fashion brand didn't really let them have much time for movie marathons, so they mostly just talk while Claire does her sketches and Michael writes his songs.

_Wow, I'm home._ Her footsteps were muffled by the exquisite taupe carpet as she made her way into her bedroom. As soon as she dropped her tan leather suitcase, she reached for her phone and dialed Michael's number. "Hey, Claire." Michael answered in bright tones. She could practically see him smiling.

"Hey, so mother's there?" she asked. She called Katherine as Mrs. Jackson the first time she met her. Michael told her she's the one who got him trick-or-treating and she was so glad, so she said any friend of her Michael may call her mother.

"Yeah, you wanna talk to her?"

"Nah. I'll have lots of time for that." Claire smiled, excitement lighting her eyes up. "What time should I go there?"

"I could just pick you up."

"Mike, remember my neighbor from downstairs, Donna James? I told you she's a designer, too, right? So, she's having a party to introduce her new line later. She blocked me as I entered the hall, asking where I've been and she wants me to come to her posh party. I tell you, that woman is as nosey as she is talented. Anyway, I think there are a lot of celebrities down there and the paparazzi. So, if you don't want to get eaten alive, stay there and wait for me."

"But you're invited! You should go have fun!" he teased, laughing.

"Oh, please. Her 'daahling! Where have you been? ' isn't convincing. Ugh." She mocked her rival designer perfectly. "What time shall I go there?"

"I'll have Sam pick you up."

"Michael, I can just go by-" she started.

"Sam. He's on his way. And you hit your head so I don't think you should be driving alone." His voice was firm, and Claire figured she didn't stand a chance.

"Fine. I'll see you, then." She grumbled in defeat.

"I love you." he said, still teasingly, but Claire knew he means it.

"I love you, too." She said, equally teasingly. "Bye." She put the receiver back down on its cradle.

Excitement surging through her veins, Claire stormed through her walk-in closet and stuffed five huge suitcases full of clothes, shoes, make-up, and all her essentials. When she's filled her tan leather suitcase, crème calfskin holdall wheelie, two patent leather suitcases –one in scarlet red, the other in lime green- full to the brim, she flung open her last leather suitcase, which was a gift of Michael's for her when they went on their first official boyfriend-girlfriend vacation to Paris. It was huge, in tasteful taupe. The zippers were custom-made; they were shaped like keys with hearts for heads, and faintly purple Swarovski crystals spelled out Claire on them. On the front of the creamy leather, an exquisite hand-painted rose in all shades of red, pink, and purple stood out, making that lovely suitcase close to Claire's –and Michael's- hearts. She stuffed it with a couple more boots and coats, sunglasses and lingerie. She did a double take on the suggestive French silk, deciding she'd better leave them in her closet. At last, she was done packing.

Just as she was hauling the last suitcase to the living room, the telephone rang.

"Hello?" She waited for Sam to answer.

"Hey, Claire. Sam called me about five minutes ago, his wife's doctor called, she's in labor. He asked permission to go to her after he takes you here, but I told him to go ahead to the hospital." Michael said in a rush.

"Oh. Well, I'll be on my way." Claire eyed her luggage with trepidation._ Five huge suitcases, one skinny girl, eighteen freaking floors to conquer, not to mention getting them into my tiny Porsche... Oh God._

"No. I'll pick you up! Actually, I'm already downstairs." she could hear his smile. Claire listened in astonishment.

"But… Donna James's party! The paparazzi!" she wailed, slapping her forehead.

"Nothing more you could do about it. Shall I come up?" He shrugged.

"No, stay in your car. I'll be down in a minute. See ya." She plunked the phone down and struggled to push her suitcases through the door and into the spacious elevators, thankfully so.

On the sixteenth floor, Donna James walked in the lift. She eyed Claire and her luggage disbelievingly as she found a spot that wasn't already taken up by the bags. Claire couldn't help but giggle as Donna kept looking at the suitcase with the rose behind her huge brown sunglasses.

"I take it you're not coming to my party?" Donna asked stiffly, as though Claire just slapped her.

Shaking her head, Claire answered. "I'm afraid not, I have important matters to attend to. I'm so sorry. But thank you for inviting me."

Donna nodded and side- stepped Claire and her bags as they reached the ground floor, where Donna's party was going to be held at the ballroom. Her Louboutins made echoing noises as she walked ahead of Claire, who was lugging two of her suitcases beside a bellhop, who pulled the remaining three along. They were all walking towards the main doors, where a lot of press people were huddled together, their cameras flashing faster than lightning. Claire assumed they were all over Donna's celebrity guests, until she was close enough to hear the questions they were throwing.

"Hey, Jacko!" someone yelled. "You 'aven't answered me yet!"

Claire froze, stopping dead on her tracks. Sure enough, Michael came into view. He made his way in with the help of some guards. He strode towards her, looking a bit shaken but smiling widely anyway.

"I told you to stay in your car!" she squeaked, terrified.

"I would've, but they found out I was inside, so I figured I should just get in here." He was defensive, but still gentle. "C'mon, Claire. It's no big deal."

"Uhm, excuse me, Miss Denworth, Mr. Jackson," Kent Kiefer, the owner of place, interrupted in a businesslike, yet small voice. "If you wish to talk, why not come in the café, or anywhere but here in the hall. I assume you would want to stay out of their sight?" He gestured towards the paparazzi, whose noses were pressed on the glass, bulbs still flashing.

"Actually, we need to leave. We'd just go through the back." Michael piped in.

"Certainly," Kiefer said professionally. "I'll have your car driven there right away." He added, then turned to Claire. "Miss Denworth, it's seems like you'll be gone for quite a while." He said, eyeing her luggage curiously. "Shall we keep sending cleaning crew while you're out?"

"Yes, please. Thank you." she answered. As Kiefer walked them to the back door, Claire felt an uncomfortable twisting in her stomach. She was sure something wrong was going to happen, but what? Michael, on the other hand, was in high spirits. With a smile, he thought of Claire agreeing to stay in Neverland. Sure, she's been there a million times, but today was different, in a good way. It felt different, although he couldn't tell why… he just _felt_ it.

They slipped into Michael's car unnoticed by the paparazzi. For a few minutes, Michael chattered happily about how he felt so good seeing his mother again. Claire nodded and smiled a little when he paused for her reaction. The smile was beautiful, of course, her thin, pink lips exposing two rows of pearly white teeth. But it was empty… her eyes looked sad and scared.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, peeling his eyes from her to look at the road. He waited, but cold silence answered him. Flummoxed, he looked at her, half-expecting her to be asleep. But she was wide awake, her blue grey eyes staring vacantly at the blurry scenery. A shrill beep came from her phone, which was in the glove compartment. As if she didn't hear a thing, she remained unmoving.

"Claire, what's wrong?" Michael asked again, pulling over. As the car came to a halt, Claire blinked, and then looked at Michael.

"Why are we stopping?" she asked, peering at the gasoline gauge to see if they ran out of gas. But it was full. She felt Michael's eyes on her, and she turned to look at him. His brown eyes were worried. "What's wrong?" Her voice was alarmed.

"You tell me." He reached for the glove compartment and fished for her phone. With a sigh, he placed it in her hands. "You didn't hear this?

Shaking her head, Claire saw a message from her father.

Claire, dear, I gave you a ring. I saw your airport pictures on TV. Why didn't you tell me you were coming today? How's ebony? – Dad

"Already?" Claire said stunned. They had just arrived this morning and the media is already over him. _Distance DOES_ _make the heart grow fonder, _she thought sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"Already what?" Michael asked curiously.

"Dad said he saw our arrival photos on TV. Can you believe it?!" Claire rattled disgustedly.

"Honestly? Yep." He answered coolly.

Claire rolled her eyes, then went on to text her father that she's fine, and so is Michael. He began driving again but didn't bother talking this time. In e few more silent minutes, they were already in Neverland.

"Claire!" Katherine gave her a warm hug as soon as she got out of the car. Claire squeezed Katherine in her arms, quite surprised at how much she actually missed her.

"How's your head?" Katherine asked sympathetically, glancing up at Claire's bandage.

"It doesn't hurt much anymore." Claire smiled. "How are you, mother?"

"I'm fine dear." She answered, then looked around to make sure Michael wouldn't hear. "Quite worried for him, actually."

Claire only nodded, then suggested they proceed inside so she could tell her about their stay in Hawaii.

"It was so quiet and relaxing. You should go there sometime." Claire told an absorbed Katherine.

"Yes. Maybe I could use a little peace and quiet. I'm getting quite old, you know, and I think a little quiet would do me good." Katherine said, her voice tinged with the slightest hint of weariness.

"Old? Not at all, not at-" her voice trailed off as she saw Michael enter the room. "Hey, Mike. Are you going somewhere?"

"Yeah, I'm off to Westlake to talk with Quincy. I'll be back before sundown." He proceeded to kiss both women at the cheek. "And when I get back, we're going out for dinner."

The two women watched Michael leave, then Katherine turned to Claire. "Thank you, child. I heard from Janet how miserable he was before. But you brought back the happy, smiling Michael we all love."

* * *

"Michael! Great to see you back!" Quincy greeted, enveloping him in a bear hug.

"You too, Q." he said. "So what are we gonna talk about today?"

"Something you love, Mike." Quincy smiled. "Short films!"

Michael smiled as they settled down and got into business. Michael loved doing music videos –short films, he calls them- as much as making the songs themselves. He feels that people can see the music as much as they hear it. He's glad he made Thriller, because that short film broke MTV's racial barrier. And now that he's gonna be making short films again, he's just ecstatic.

"So we're making films for all of the tracks except 'Just Good Friends' and 'I Just Can't Stop Loving You'?" Quincy asked in a business-like manner.

"Yes, and 'Another Part of Me', since it's already part of Captain EO." He replied, obviously trying to keep his excitement bottled up. "When are we gonna start filming? And which song goes first?"

"Whoa, slow down there Mike. I already called Martin Scorsese for Bad, and he won't be available 'til next, next month. So I was thinking, we do The Way You Make Me Feel first because Joe Pytka can do it now. But we release it after Bad, because obviously Bad needs to go first." Quincy suggested.

"Okay, so when do we film it?" Michael asked eagerly.

"We're gonna start filming as soon as we get a cast, hopefully three weeks from now."

"I can't wait!" Michael said, smiling brightly.


End file.
